


Tempus Fugit

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-05
Updated: 2000-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no reality except in action. (Jean-Paul Sartre)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempus Fugit

Too Slow for those who Wait,  
Too Swift for those who Fear,  
Too Long for those who Grieve,  
Too Short for those who Rejoice;  
But for those who Love,  
Time is Eternity.  
\-- Henry Van Dyke 

November 13, 1996  


The first time I saw Jim Ellison, he was sneezing. At the sage I was burning in his and Blair's apartment in Cascade. He's a big man with a big sneeze; I'm sure that has significance, but I really don't want to go there. 

I overheard him say to Blair that he had no idea I'd be so . . . young. And pretty, he meant, I know; I'm not vain, but I know who and what I am. I saw the effect I was having on him. I liked it. For a while, I thought we might be good friends. Several of Blair's friends have become mine. 

It didn't take me long to realize that I was hurting Blair's feelings, though, and so I stopped flirting with Jim, stopped wearing the diaphanous clothing that flattered my figure. Being small breasted has its benefits; even in my fifties, I don't have to wear a bra, and I saw that Jim had noticed. 

But it didn't take much time before I felt differently about Jim. Just long enough to realize how Blair felt about him. My boy. Well, my boys, now, I guess. 

* * *

Mid-November - Diwali  
1977 

"Should I ask Lakshmi to bless us?" my sweetheart asked, his eyes wide as he looked around at all the candles burning in the open air temple. He clung to my hand so we wouldn't be separated, but the people here stepped back for us, recognizing in him the old and wise soul he carried. 

"Yes, darling," I answered, smiling at his upturned face and brushing the auburn curls back. "And ask for blessings for all our friends, and for poor people . . ." 

He was nodding his head. "Yes, mama, and for the good to grow better, and the bad to grow good." I had to laugh a little at that. 

As we approached the altar, Blair dropped my hand and reverently laid the bouquet of wildflowers he was carrying at the feet of the goddess Lakshmi. I watched him, filled with pride. Oh, I knew that he'd grow up to be a man, that he wouldn't remain this angelic child at my side, and I would let him go, I would, I refused to be my parents and try to force him into what I wanted. But for now, I rejoiced in his presence in my life. 

When he came back to me, smiling shyly, I kissed his forehead. The women around us reached out and gently patted his curls as we left the temple; he smiled at them tolerantly. "Dhanyavaad," he said, " dhanyavaad." 

"Darshan," I heard someone say, and pulled Blair a little closer. Darshan means to receive the blessing of a saint; my sweetheart was a good boy, and very beautiful, and I do believed he is an enlightened one, but with that could come great danger. 

* * *

Late November -- Thanksgiving/Ramadan  
1997 

"Now, wait a minute, Chief," Jim said as he pushed the cart through the milling crowd. "If we're celebrating Ramadan, why are we stocking up for the next millennium?" 

Blair flashed him a smile over his shoulder as he rooted through the sweet potatoes, looking for the freshest. "Well, not being Moslem, I don't feel the need to fast," he said, filling a plastic bag with decidedly phallic-looking tubers. "I'm just acknowledging its significance. A lotta people do celebrate it, though. Even at the PD; I know a couple cops who do, and one of the secretaries in Records." 

"Hmm." Jim stared at the bag. "Just what are you going to do with all those sweet potatoes?" 

"Sweet potato pie, man." 

"Pumpkin, man." 

"But I haven't had a lotta luck cooking pumpkin . . ." 

"No, Sandburg. We'll do it the time-honored way and open a can. Not everything has to be made from scratch. In fact, Sara Lee makes a pretty good pumpkin pie." 

"Canned." He removed a couple sweet potatoes. "I propose a compromise. One pumpkin pie, from a can, and one sweet potato pie, made fresh." 

Jim pursed his lips and nodded, eyeing the onions. He had a recipe for baked onions he hadn't tried in years. 

"Will your mom be out?" 

Blair shrugged and turned to scope out a mountain of carrots. "Probably not, but I never know. She might be out for Solstice, though." 

"Not Hanukkah?" 

"Maybe." He shrugged again. "Do you mind if I put out a menorah?" 

Jim stopped sorting onions to look at his friend. "Blair, no. Whatever holiday you want to celebrate. As long as it doesn't involve peyote or cannibalism." 

Blair tipped his head forward, but Jim could still see his smile. "Not on the calendar this year." 

"So, Sandburg. How many people you invite for Thanksgiving dinner anyway?" 

"Hmm, do you think we should have a tossed green salad?" 

"Sandburg." 

* * *

Early December - Bodhi Day  
1986 

"The calendars aren't the same, Mom. And it isn't like in Jewish tradition, where they keep such careful records, so I can't tell you the exact day. I mean, it did happen almost fifteen hundred years ago." 

"I just don't understand, sweetie. Shouldn't we celebrate on the exact day that the Buddha was enlightened?" 

"Well, it's like Christmas. That really isn't when Jesus was born; it's just the date that was decided on." 

"We don't really celebrate Christmas, honey, but still, even I know the date: December 25." 

"Okay, bad example." He paused, staring across campus while I sipped my tea in the student union caf "Shit, Naomi, I can't think of an example." 

I laughed. "Don't say 'shit' in front of your mother." 

He blushed, and scooped a fingerful of hair behind his ear, but it was too short and flopped into his face again. "I'm going to buy you barrettes," I teased. 

"Mother. I'm already suffering from enough gender confusion." 

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease when you're still exploring your sexuality." 

He blushed even more and glanced nervously around. "Not _here_ ," he whispered. "I'm short, I'm Jewish, I'm smart, and now maybe I'm gay. Not the most popular combination of attributes." 

"Blair Sandburg," I started, but his face was so miserable, so disconcerted that I let that lecture go. He'd heard it already, anyway. I reached out and took his hand, wishing so much I could help. "Whatever you want, darling," I finally said. 

"You don't mind if I, if I'm," he swallowed. 

"Blair. Think about Tony and Jacob. Ron and Terry. Tim and Big Tim. Uh, Ida and Ruthie." After a second, I added, "me and Leslie." 

His large eyes got bigger. "Mom?" 

I smiled at him. "Well, it's supposed to be hereditary. You come by it naturally. Besides," I said more seriously, "you're only seventeen. This is the time to experiment. You know that; you're an anthropologist." 

"Just a student," he mumbled, but I could see he was relieved. 

"It was very brave of you to tell me, Blair." He ducked his head, a habit I wished he'd outgrow. "All I want is for you to be happy; you must know that." 

He nodded and fiddled with the straw in his apple juice. "I know, Mom. I just, it's just really scary." He looked at me through the curly bangs he was wearing this year. "I joined the Gay-Lesbian-Bi Student Union." 

"Good," I said firmly. "You need to meet people, talk to them. Feel more comfortable with this. Date a few people. Have sex." 

"Mom!" He turned as red as the thermal undershirt I could see beneath his flannel jacket. He was so easy to tease. 

"So, are we gonna celebrate Bodhi Day or not? And if so, when?" 

Still pink, he smiled at me. "Yes, Mother. Since you can't be here for Hanukkah or Solstice, let's celebrate the Enlightenment. We can pray for some ourselves." 

Hmm. Sharp tongue on my boy, isn't there. 

* * *

Early December -- Hanukkah/Winter Solstice/Christmas  
1998 

"Wow," Jim said, looking around the loft and smiling. "We did a great job, Sandburg." 

Blair was craning his head to look at the railing above Jim's bed; one of the bulbs was burnt out. All white and blue. Jim's idea, in honor of the Israeli flag. They were celebrating Hanukkah this week; next week was Solstice and shortly after that would be Christmas, their third together. Blair wasn't sure why Jim was going full out on the holidays, but clearly he was enjoying it, and anything that gave Jim pleasure rated pretty highly in Blair's book. So they'd decorated the loft to celebrate all three holidays: a menorah in the front window, and a wreath on the front door, and one on the balcony railing. It was too early for a Christmas tree, but Jim had already asked if Blair would help him choose a live one. In another week, one would be glowing with white and blue lights and handmade wooden ornaments they'd found at a crafts fair in October. 

"It looks great," Blair finally said, sincerity ringing in his voice. To his surprise, Jim put a hand on Blair's shoulder, and then draped his arm around Blair as they stood admiring their work. 

"Thank, Chief," he said quietly. "Looks like somebody lives here. Like it's a home." Blair knew Jim was remembering when he'd kicked Blair out of the loft and moved out all the furniture. When he'd gone nuts, really, not that Blair had ever expressed it that way to Jim. He took a step nearer and they leaned against each other in their quiet, radiant home. 

"Apple cider?" Blair suggested, the smell of the cinnamon and cider filling the air from where it simmered on the stove top. Jim pulled him into a hug, a real hug, and he put his arms around Jim's back, comforting him as best he could. What could Blair say? You fucked up. You killed me. I forgive you. Except he couldn't say those things, not ever, so he just hugged Jim back until he heard Jim sigh and felt his arms release Blair. 

"Yeah," Jim said, voice a little husky. "I could use some cider." 

* * *

Early February -- Candlemas  
1999 

"Mom!" Blair's face lit up just as it had when he was a little boy and I returned from some journey or pilgrimage. Behind him, I saw Jim stand up and neatly fold the newspaper before coming forward to hug and kiss me as well. 

"Naomi," he said as he took my bags, and I felt truly welcome in their home. 

"What're you doing in Cascade?" Blair asked as he led me to the couch, then jumped up to put water on for tea. 

"It's Candlemas, sweetie." 

He turned from the sink, smiling with pleasure. Jim came out of Blair's room and asked, "What's Candlemas?" 

"It's a time to seek omens of Spring. To change one's life. To clean house!" 

Blair laughed and put the tea kettle on to boil. "Every day is Candlemas around here." 

But Jim was curious, I could see. He sat next to me, his intelligent face gazing down at me. "It's a time to start a new life, Jim. To get rid of the old, the unused, the unwanted, and to welcome whatever comes next." 

He looked sad, and older by more than three years than when I first met him. 

"Hey, Jim," Blair said, standing in the middle of the kitchen. "You don't have to do anything. Don't worry about it --" 

"No, Sandburg. I want to." Jim studied me thoughtfully; I could see he wanted to ask questions. I'd have to get him alone for a while. "What do I need to do, Naomi?" 

"Well, tomorrow is February second, so tonight we clean. Tomorrow we'll light candles and embrace the new." 

Jim nodded. "I'd like that. I think it's time." 

Blair sighed dramatically. "Jim, man, you have to stop making these sudden changes. I can't keep up with you." 

"Shut up, Chief," but I could tell by the fond smile that he enjoyed the teasing. 

After our tea, I set the boys to work, rolling up the rugs, moving back the couches, and sweeping and mopping the floor. I dusted. Jim cleaned the bathroom; I gathered that was of special importance to him. Well, he certainly was anal, so I guess bathrooms would be significant. Blair washed the outside of the balcony windows while I washed the inside, pointing out streaks and pretending to splash each other's faces. I was hot and sweaty when we finished and, by virtue of being both female and older, claimed the shower first. It was, unsurprisingly, gleaming. 

They took me out to dinner that night, a vegetarian restaurant within walking distance. Afterwards, we strolled along the harbor; it was cold, but I snuggled up to Blair, who put an arm around me. We paused eventually, and leaned against the railing, watching the lights bob on the tide below us. I love the smell of sea air and breathed it in with pleasure. 

"I love Cascade," I murmured. "I always come home to Cascade." 

"I thought it was me you came home to," Blair teased, but I turned to him quickly. 

"Oh, honey, I do. You live in my heart, you know that, don't you?" He blushed a little, I could tell even in the sulfur glow of the street lights. I kissed his cheek. Next to him, Jim watched solemnly. "Don't you?" 

"Yes, mama," he said quietly, and Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders. I looked up into his face. Such a quiet man, so unlike my Blair, but a good man, I could tell. Someone who loved Blair. To my surprise, he leaned down and kissed me chastely. 

"He knows, Naomi. I'll make sure he knows." 

"Oh, man, I hate it when you guys talk over me." 

"Sorry," Jim and I said simultaneously, and then laughed. 

The next morning, when I got up, Jim had lit candles everywhere. In the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room. Up in the loft, I could tell by the wavering light. Blair was sleeping on the couch, beautiful in the flicker of a dozen candles arranged in a circle on the coffee table in front of him. I stood in the door of my room and watched him, my beautiful, brave son. Then Jim came quietly in the front door, newspaper under one arm and a bag of something that smelled awfully good in the other. 

"Fresh bagels," he said softly, trying not to wake Blair. "Cream cheese, lox, and cucumbers." 

I hurried to help him prepare the breakfast while he put on the coffee. I knew my boy well enough to know that he'd be stirring as soon as he smelled that. 

Jim put a hand on my lower back, his face serious. "Thank you, Naomi. It's been a rough year. I don't know how much Blair has told you --" 

"Nothing. A very unusual silence from Blair, all through last summer and this past winter. Will you tell me?" 

What looked like fear flashed across his handsome face and his eyes turned for a moment toward my son. Then he said, "Yes. I'll tell you everything. Blair has class today; let me take you to lunch. No," he interrupted himself. "Let's stay in. What I have to say can't be said in a restaurant." 

I nodded to myself. I knew something terrible had happened. I had felt it months ago. Something had happened to my boy, because of Jim. 

"We'll welcome the new," I finally said, and smiled when Jim blushed. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

And so I learned my boy had died. 

* * *

Early March -- Holi, Hindu Spring Festival  
Mid-March -- Purim  
1999 

"What is that noise, Sandburg?" 

"A gragger. See, look," Blair spun the noisemaker, smiling at his memories. "Here, you try." 

Jim stared at the toy, then cracked up and started spinning it wildly. "Gragger? What kinda word is that?" 

"Yiddish, you mackerel snapper." 

"I'll snap you, you gragger, you." 

"I shoulda got another one." 

"Yeah, 'cause this one's mine, now." Jim spun it, laughing at himself, blushing a little at his own silliness. "Hey, what's the deal with this thing, anyway?" 

"It's Purim. A great holiday, one of my faves when I was a little kid. I'm making hamantaschen, little cookies, for the guys at work . . ." 

"And your roommate." 

"Yeah, and another dozen for my roommate. With prune jam." Jim's eyebrows rose and he spun the gragger in Blair's face. "Okay, apricot." The gragger retreated. 

"So some Jewish holiday." 

"Yeah, celebrating Queen Esther's defeat of a plan to kill all the Jews in Persia." 

"Jesus, you guys are always in trouble." 

Blair started laughing. "Jesus? Well, yeah, he was a Jew who got in trouble, too." 

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!" Jim spun his gragger harder. "I love this thing. I think it could be a real law enforcement tool. Stop, or I'll spin my gragger." 

"Your gragger or your life." 

"Step away from the gragger. When are you making these cookies?" 

"Butter's softening now. The dough has to sit overnight, so they won't be cookies until tomorrow. Then I'll bring them to work on Purim, the next day." 

Jim reluctantly stopped spinning the gragger and handed it back to Blair, shaking his hand. "Hammacher-Schlemmers, right?" Blair just rolled his eyes. "I thought we were gonna celebrate Holi." 

"That, too. I think we need to celebrate life this year." 

A pensive look settled over Jim's handsome features, and he nodded, reaching out to squeeze Blair's shoulder. "Yeah. A big celebration." 

"Well, traditionally, bonfires are set at Holi, to welcome spring and give thanks to Krishna, the god of pleasure. I thought this weekend we could build a bonfire at Salmon Creek Beach." 

"Roast wienies?" 

"Um, veggie wienies, since it's a Hindu festival, but yeah, sure. And marshmallows." 

Jim nodded again. "I'd like that, Blair. I'll even eat tofu burgers to help celebrate this year." He squeezed Blair's shoulder again and then opened the fridge. "Beer?" 

* * *

Late March -- Spring Equinox  
1999 

I was sailing to Ringsvassoy, far above the Arctic Circle, with a group of women friends to celebrate the Equinox. I'd brought new clothes that I'd made myself, from linen and cotton and wool. I'd even knitted the socks, colorful green raggs, and then sent Jim and Blair each a pair as well. 

I'd chosen this journey in part to get far from Cascade. I was still reeling from learning last month of my boy's death and miraculous return. His return at Jim's behest, apparently; Jim had been a bit reticent on that, no matter how strongly I urged him. He was deeply shamed by his behavior, I could tell. He does that masculine sorrow very well: the shaky voice, the long pauses, the looking into some middle distance of regret. I was too experienced to be much moved by it, especially when I wanted nothing more than to throttle him blue. 

I'm letting this go. 

But how can I detach with love from my son's own life? I _gave_ him life, goddammit. Oh shit, Gretta will be all over me for holding on to my anger, but how can I let something like this go? 

Breathe, Naomi. Breathe. 

I didn't talk to Blair about this. I needed to get away, to process this information. I'd fled Cascade and, unable to meditate, gave up and walked around Santa Cruz all night one night, alternately weeping and shouting in fury. I'd stumbled onto a group of women on the beach celebrating shabbat, some kind of ultra-reform Jews, and had fallen in with them. Their strong arms and ample bosoms comforted me until I'd slept at last, on the pile of their coats. 

I'd met another Naomi there, and she'd taken me home. Old enough to be my mother, but a much better cook. I stayed three days with her and told her everything, the way one sometimes does with a stranger. I'd wept uncontrollably; Blair would never have recognized the harridan who stared into Naomi's bathroom mirror, hair dirty and wild, make-up smeared, clothes stained and torn. 

At last, Naomi had called her family's rabbi, not the ultra-reform one I'd met on the beach, but a nice old man with a Brooklyn accent, who listened to me and held my hand. He reminded me of my grandfather, long since dead, and oh god, I miss my zayde. I think now, looking back at my misery, that I missed being a child, missed not having the responsibility and the knowledge I now carry. 

Rabbi Jacobson was very kind to me. He stayed long into the night, the dark night of my soul, he'd called it and laughed sadly. I've since learned that's from the Catholic tradition, from St. John of the Cross, but it fit. It fit. 

I can't say I've come to grips with the knowledge of my son's death. I don't believe that's possible for any mother. The fact sits in my throat like gristle from a tough chicken, impossible to swallow. But I can breathe around it. And I'm learning to live with the knowledge. Rabbi Jacobson said that's all we can do with such terrible things. 

On the third day I made myself leave Naomi's home. I kissed her goodbye, loving the smell of her face powder and perfume, and sent her Godiva chocolate as a thank-you. I had the cab stop at Rabbi Jacobson's synagogue and thanked him, too, as best I could. He kissed my cheek, as my grandfather used to, and blessed me. 

For a while I wandered up and down the west coast, though never farther north than Portland. Then I went to Hawaii, then New Mexico, then Hawaii again, always seeking something. I remained celibate for a change, though I was tempted in Hawaii by a handsome young Asian man, with skin like silk, who reverently touched my breasts one moonlit night on Kealaikahiki Point. Oh god, how my body responded to his hands cupping me, his warm mouth kissing my nipples, but then I remembered little Blair suckling and I had to pull away, breathless in grief. I kissed that young man and flew straight to Los Angeles, then wandered through Santa Monica. 

For almost five weeks I permitted myself to float through life, through grief. Then I ran into Gretta, in Venice. She took one look at me, pulled me into her arms, and took me home. We've been together ever since. 

I've known Gretta for almost as long as Blair's been alive. She knew him at one month, when his little belly button got an infection. She helped me breastfeed him, having a boy of her own only a few months older. I suppose Blair would be shocked to know he'd sucked at her breasts and that Trigby had sucked at mine, but Gretta and I loved it. I remember looking down at Trigby's blondness, so different from my dark Blair, feeling his lips and gums on me as he pulled nourishment from my very body, while Gretta sat next to me, Blair happily drinking from her body. 

And we drank from each other, deeply, deeply. 

So I sleep with Gretta again, after all these years. Our bodies have changed, grown softer and, in Gretta's case, considerably more plump. But I think she's delicious and from the noises she makes, I think she finds me the same. 

Funny, how sex can make life better. I remember when Blair was experimenting sexually. I was terrified that he'd catch something or be hurt, emotionally or physically, but at the same time, I was so proud of him for having the courage to explore. And he is such a beauty. Such a brave beauty. 

And I almost lost him. I'm crying now, thinking about it. I need Gretta to hold me, pet me, soothe me. And when we reach Ringsvassoy, we'll dance around a bonfire in our new green clothes and give each other presents in the baskets we've woven ourselves and eat hardboiled eggs with caviar and champagne. I will celebrate the renewal of life, the return to the sun, the equinox, when everything is for a tiny time balanced and in harmony. Then I'll make love to Gretta under the dim light of these northern skies until she cries out in orgasm, and as I do, I will pray that my son is making love, too, and rejoicing in his life, in his return. 

* * *

Late March/Early April -- Pesach  
1999 

Blair looked up into Jim's face, intense, apprehensive, but determined, too, Jim thought. He was a bit taken aback, but after a moment said, "Sure. Yeah. Let's do the whole megillah." 

That, thank god, made Blair laugh. "Megillah indeed," he said, his smile lightening Jim's heart as the sun did the night. "Great. I'll do everything, really, Jim, you just need to be here." 

"Bullshit, Sandburg. I wanna help, too. It's a special meal, right?" Jim tried to look intelligent and knowledgeable, but what he knew about Passover would fit into a thimble. 

"Yeah, a big meal, complicated to fix." Blair gestured toward some books on the coffee table. "Some of those are mine, some are the libraries. If you really want to help, we could go over the menu together. And, uh, we need new pots and dishes and silverware." 

Jim pulled his mouth down and raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Special cooking procedures, right?" 

"Right. Kosher." 

"I don't think I've ever eaten kosher before." He smiled. "You tryin' to convert this lapsed Catholic, Sandburg?" 

"No, no, James Joseph!" They laughed at each other, and Jim slung an arm around Blair's shoulder, then led him to the couch and pulled over the top book. "See, here," Blair pointed, still leaning against Jim's side. 

"'Seder: A Meal in Four Acts,'" Jim read, and flipped to the next page. "Blessed are you, God, Ruler of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine." 

"Yeah, that's the kiddush, the blessing, given at the beginning of the meal. Um." Blair closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then said, "Baruch atah, Adonai elohainu, melech haolam, boray pree ha aitz." 

"That's Hebrew?" 

He blushed a little. "Well, it's my best shot at it. Been a long time." 

"And the dinner - maror, karpas, haroseth, z'roah?" 

"You sure you don't mind?" 

"Naw. Let's just figure this out now." As if it were a military campaign, Jim settled back to plot out his first Pesach. "Get me paper and pencil, will ya, Chief? We need to start a grocery list. Is there a Jewish deli or something we can get this stuff at?" 

"Yeah, but all the big grocery stores have kosher sections, too. The deli's just for things we don't want to make from scratch." 

"Like maror, karpas, haroseth, and z'roah." 

Blair laughed. "I think even we can boil potatoes for the karpas." 

"Can we drink good wine? Is there decent kosher wine?" 

Blair frowned. "I was just reading about that. I'll research it out. Naomi has a friend who runs a vineyard in the Napa Valley; I'll email him. See what I can find." 

"That's okay. I'll drink sweet wine to celebrate this with you." Blair didn't answer, so Jim glanced at him from the recipes. He looked stricken. "Blair? I'm sorry, Chief. You know I'm no connoisseur. Any wine'll do." 

"No, no. It isn't that." Blair cleared his throat. "Just. Thanks." He stared at the floor. Jim gazed at his friend, wondering what to do. Cautiously, he put his arm around Blair, who leaned his head against Jim's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

"No, don't be. It's okay, Chief. This was a, a real hard year for you." They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Jim gently squeezed Blair. "What's Pesach celebrate, anyway?" 

"It commemorates the exodus of the Hebrews from Egypt, circa 1300 BCE. It's actually an eight-day festival . . ." 

"We gotta eat like this eight nights?" 

"No, man, calm down. The first two. It's not like I'm an expert, you know. Naomi just celebrated whatever took her fancy. But I do know we have to clean house --" 

"Like at Candlemas?" 

"Yeah, and either eat or sell all the yeast products, the, uh, hametz, I think. Like regular bread, and I guess beer, since it's got yeast in it." 

"Clean is good, yeast is bad." 

"Yeah, basically. And, like I said, special plates and stuff. And five glasses of wine, and yes, I know there are only two of us. I have to look up what the first four represent, but the fifth is for the prophet Elijah." Jim was happy to see Blair looking livelier, pulling books toward him, flipping them open. "And the youngest child answers the four questions." He looked up at Jim, smiling. "I guess you'll have to ask them." Jim shrugged and leaned over Blair's shoulder, to the page he was pointing at. 

"Why is this night different?" he read, and wondered at that himself. Was it because Blair was resting comfortably against him, a solid weight to remind Jim of his presence in his life? Because he was smiling and laughing? Because he was planning for a special occasion in the future? Because he was still with Jim? 

He looked from the questions in the book to the question that was Blair. The youngest would have to answer. 

* * *

Late April/Early May -- Beltane  
1999 

Jim plucked two water crackers covered in melted brie off a passing tray, catching Blair's disapproving eye. He made them into a sandwich and popped them into his mouth before searching out more tidbits. "Excuse me," he murmured, sidling between two older women sipping champagne; he could hear Sandburg following him to the buffet table. 

"This is amazing," he said when Blair's curly head came into sight. 

Blair handed Jim a small pink paper plate and matching napkin and said, "Stop grazing," as he started loading his own plate with goodies: grapes, a slice of cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, garlic-stuffed olives, tiny triangles of filo stuffed with feta cheese, and cheddar cheese biscuits. Jim followed suit, wishing for larger plates, and a way to hold the plate, hold a glass of wine, and still have a free hand with which to eat. 

"How do you know the etiquette of these kinds of get-togethers?" 

Blair looked up at him and smiled crookedly. "Jim. Naomi, remember? The life of the party? I grew up on brie and chevre." 

Jim raised his eyebrows as he continued to cram more yummies onto his tiny plate, remembering his white bread upbringing. No brie and certainly no chevre rolled in herbs like this, mmm. He scooped a big chunk up on a slice of sour dough baguette and balanced it on top of everything else. He heard Blair laughing but didn't look at him, afraid he was the object of Blair's humor. 

They pushed their way through the crowded room through large latticed doors leading to a redwood deck. "Jesus, what do these people do for a living that they can afford this house?" 

"Teach," Blair said, before taking a bite of celery loaded with salmon pate. 

"Shit. You coulda had this?" 

He shook his head, still chewing. "Not in anthropology, no." He swallowed. "Law." 

Jim stared at him. "Wait a minute. We're here at a, a coven of witches and they're _lawyers_?" He started to laugh. "I thought that was black magic." 

"Shh!" Blair looked around but smiling in spite of himself. "Don't let them hear you, man." 

Jim swallowed his laughter; he really didn't want to be rude. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Beltane." He ate some grapes, grateful that they were seedless. He wasn't sure how to get rid of seeds politely in public. 

"I'm kinda surprised, too. Why did you agree?" 

Jim sighed and looked out at the enormous backyard. The well-trimmed lawn stretched back and slightly down for a good quarter acre to the border of blackberry bushes and cedar trees. He shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure. Partly because you asked," and he colored a little at this admission. "What's Beltane, anyway?" 

Blair knew, Jim could tell, that he was changing the subject, but gamely answered, "One of the four major sabbots, or important holidays, for witches. It celebrates the marriage of the god and goddess, which of course is a metaphor for fertility, for the growing season and harvest." 

"So what are these things for?" Jim gestured with a cracker toward the strings of beads dangling from his coat pocket and the leis around his and Blair's necks. 

"We'll hang those on the Beltane tree a little later. Kind of like decorating a Christmas tree. Only not Christian, of course. Not that Christmas trees are Christian, really, but they've been co-opted." Jim nodded; he'd heard that lecture before. 

"So what's next?" 

"Come on, people," someone called at the same moment, while a tall heavy man with a striking resemblance to Santa Claus began ringing a wine glass with a spoon. Jim stuffed more food into his mouth, unwilling to leave any behind, before depositing his empty plate on the tray of yet another passing waiter. 

"I'm glad you made me dress up," he whispered to Blair, straightening his tie while watching the waiters in black trousers, white shirts, and black waistcoats. Blair himself looked very nice in dark blue wool trousers and a lighter blue sweater that Jim had given him two Christmases ago. Underneath he wore a white silk shirt; only the collar and cuffs peeked out. He'd put his earrings back in, too; Jim had rejoiced when he'd seen them glittering again. 

Blair put his hand on Jim's elbow and led him down the steps from the deck onto the yard and they followed the crowd across the damp grass right into the woods. There was only a narrow trail, so Blair led the way; Jim compulsively kept a hand on his back and then, blaming the party atmosphere, put both his hands on Blair's shoulders. Blair glanced back at him, smiling indulgently. 

Then the path widened and opened into a circular clearing. Jim's cop's eyes guestimated fifty people here, crowding together, laughing, many still bearing their wine glasses and a few their plates of goodies. Blair seemed to know many of them and was greeted with smiles, handshakes, and pats on his back. Jim had to let go of him, now that people were watching, but to his pleasure, Blair put his hand on Jim's elbow again and stayed right at his side. 

Finally, the clearing was ringed with the well-dressed guests. Jim enjoyed looking at the women's long skirts, although a few of the younger ones wore slip dresses entirely inappropriate to the weather and time of day. Many of the women showed deep decolletage, and his sentinel eyes caught sight of a few nipples. He leaned over and whispered, "Do nipples have special significance for this holiday?" Blair cracked up and blushed, but didn't answer. 

While they laughed, candles in holders were lit and passed around; Jim smelled honeysuckle and rose. As evening fell, the guests' faces were illuminated by the small candles. Their host, the Santa Claus look-alike, stoked a fire in the center of the ring, while his wife spoke quietly to four women in similar long dresses, one in green, one in yellow, one in pink, the last in blue. 

Finally, their hostess, "a litigator," Blair whispered, named Rose, stepped forward, her husband at her side and a step behind. 

"Welcome," she called in a voice Jim knew would be useful in any courtroom: clear and ringing. Probably sang, too, he mused, watching the women in long dresses arrange themselves through the crowd. The woman in soft pink settled near him and Blair, smiling secretively at him. 

"We're here to celebrate Beltane, to invoke the Goddess and the God and celebrate their joining. And this is the Beltane tree." She stepped aside and Jim saw that an enormous cedar had been decorated with ribbons and flowers. 

Rose said, "Mother goddess, Queen of the night and of the Earth; O Father God, King of the day and of the forest, I celebrate Your union as nature rejoices in a riotous blaze of color and life. Accept my gift, Mother Goddess and Father god, in honor of your union. 

"Please, bring your token to the Beltane tree." She turned and hung a round cloth packet from the tree, and a line formed. By the time Jim and Blair reached the tree, the lower branches were full, so Jim stretched up and hung their beads and leis as high as he could reach, Blair passing them to him as he caught a branch and gently pulled it down. Other people hung carved animals, herb wreaths, or tied pink ribbons to the cedar; the spicy scent filled the clearing as its needles were disturbed. 

At last the circle returned to its starting place, Jim and Blair once more opposite the tree. Their host -- Blair hadn't known his name, so Jim thought of him as Santa Claus -- kissed Rose passionately, his hand lightly stroking her body as she clung to him. Jim was embarrassed and glanced at Blair, who was watching wide-eyed. Santa Claus whispered something to Rose and then stepped back into the crowd, smiling proudly at her. She turned and, blushing slightly, raised her hands gracefully. 

In a slightly louder voice, she said, "From your mating shall spring forth life anew; a profusion of living creatures shall cover the lands, and the winds will blow pure and sweet. Ancient Ones, I celebrate with you!" 

She turned again, to a woman standing near her, and kissed her on the mouth. The woman turned and kissed the man next to her, who turned and kissed the man next to him. Rose turned the other way and kissed the young girl standing shyly by, who turned and kissed an equally young, furiously blushing boy, who in turn had to kiss an old man. The kisses spread like ripples around the circle, and Jim realized he was going to have to kiss Sandburg. 

When Blair touched his arm, he was already half-zoned on the thought. He stared down at his friend, who was blushing almost as much as the boy had been, but gamely leaning up towards Jim. Jim put his arms around Blair and kissed him with all the love he felt, all the love he had carried for so long. 

Jim was breathless before he started, and the feel of Blair's lips on his, Blair's taste in his mouth, threatened to push him off some precipice he had only half suspected existed. Daringly, he licked Blair's lips and felt with delight his mouth open. He pulled Blair closer, running his hands down to the small of his back and tucking Blair's body against his, and then began to kiss in earnest, slowly, deeply, the best kiss he knew how to give, sucking gently on Blair's tongue, playing with him, for Blair was giving as good as he was getting, better maybe, kissing back with the passion Jim suddenly realized he wanted all for himself. 

When they fell apart, gasping, Jim realized that the circle was around them now. He kept Blair in his arms, looking around in defiant embarrassment, but after a few seconds, Rose began applauding and the others joined in enthusiastically. The woman in pink near them took their hands and led them to the fire burning in the center of the clearing. The other women approached and, to Jim's surprise and consternation, began to tie ribbons to his and Blair's wrists and then slowly, gently wrap the ribbons around them. 

Counter-clockwise the women circled them and others in the crowd followed, till the entire group was circling them as they were bound together, an elaborate ribbon macrame that carried significance beyond Jim's understanding. And all was done in silence, the only sound the soft susurration of their feet in the loose soil and cedar needles. It was completely dark now, except for the candles they carried and the fire behind them. Jim looked away from the smiling faces circling them to Blair's face shining in the fire glow. He couldn't help it. In front of everyone, he kissed his friend again, rejoicing in Blair's trembling response. 

Finally, the ribbons came to an end; they were covered from shoulder to waist in twisted colorful ribbons, loosely tied together before this group of strangers. Rose came forward carrying a length of braided green, pink, blue, and yellow ribbons and took their left hands. She laid Jim's over Blair's and loosely tied their wrists together. 

"We celebrate your union as nature rejoices in a riotous blaze of color and life," she said, and kissed them each on their kiss-swollen mouths. "The God and Goddess have chosen you to embody their love and joining. Thank you for gracing our gathering with your presence." 

A woman in a long green gown stepped forward. "I am West," she announced, smiling at them. "Everywhere is the green of new growth, the amazing sight of the renewal of the earth, the ubiquitous energies of life." 

A woman in blue said to them, "I am North. May we, today, be touched by grace. Fascinated and moved by this your creation. Energized by the power of new growth at work in your world." 

The woman in pink who had led them there smiled and said, "I am East. May we move beyond viewing this life only through a frame . . . touch it and be touched by it, know it and be known by it, love it and be loved by it." 

A woman in yellow walked to them and kissed them each on the cheek. "I am South. May our bodies, our minds, our spirits learn a new rhythm, paced by the rhythm of the whole created order. May spring come to us, be in us, and recreate life in us." 

"Blessed Be," said Rose, and the entire circle responded, "Blessed Be." 

"Blessed Be," Blair said to Jim, and kissed him. 

"Congratulations!" Santa Claus shouted, and the solemnity was broken as people shouted, "Congratulations! L'chaim! A la vida!" along with phrases Jim didn't recognize. He was suddenly astoundingly aware of his body, dressed in his best suit, draped in ribbons, pressed tightly against Blair. Rose and the four women began unwinding them, all laughing when Jim began turning himself and Blair in the opposite direction. He left the ribbons tying their wrists together, even though it made walking awkward. Blair ducked his head under Jim's left arm and cuddled up to him, holding his left hand up across his own body so he could hold Jim's left hand as they walked back to the house. 

"What's next?" Jim whispered, then kissed Blair's ear. 

"Uh, um, marigold custard and vanilla ice cream with strawberries. Wine punch. I forget," he said and kissed Jim right back. 

Jim fed Blair marigold custard while almost all the guests came up to congratulate them. Jim wasn't always sure why he was being congratulated; in his mind, it was for finally catching a clue, but some seemed to be congratulating him for embodying the God and Goddess. Jim wondered if either he or Blair looked like a Goddess; he thought they were pretty goddamn masculine, but it seemed rude to quibble, so he smiled and spooned another dollop of custard into Blair's beautiful mouth. 

When the crowd began to thin, Blair tugged at their joined hands. "I have to pee," he whispered. Jim nodded and looked around for Rose or Santa Claus, finding only the lady in pink. 

"Excuse me," he began, and she kissed him, right on his mouth. "Um, thank you. Do you know where the bathroom is?" 

He led Blair to the bathroom off the kitchen, which was swarming with caterers packing up. Blair was scarlet as they watched him and Jim pass through. "You're going to come in?" he whispered, clearly shocked. 

Jim enjoyed this situation enormously. "I'm not letting you go ever again, Sandburg," he mock-growled, and shut the bathroom door behind him. "Need any help?" 

Blair stared at him. "Hello, Jim? Are you still filled with the spirit of the God and Goddess?" 

Jim lifted their joined hands and kissed Blair's palm, then kissed Blair's neck, and then kissed Blair's mouth. "Yes, I am." He kissed Blair again, very seriously. He didn't want Blair to be confused or distressed; he wanted him to kiss Jim right back. He felt Blair lean into him, heard his heart slow as he calmed. "Are you?" 

Blair kissed him back, slowly, sensuously. "Oh, yeah," he breathed, eyes half closed, face glowing. He backed Jim into the door and rubbed gently against him. "Oh, yes." 

"And when we get home," Jim whispered, as if telling a story, "we're not going to stop. We'll kiss all night, and you'll sleep with me, and we'll never be apart again." 

"Happily ever after," Blair sighed. "But, oh, Jim, I really do have to pee." 

"Okay," he said, and helped Blair with the business, both men blushing but determined. A small step for Jim Ellison, Jim thought, touching Blair reverently, and a giant leap for Jim and Blair. 

* * *

Late May -- Shavuot  
1999 

I've always loved the deep hours of the night. Things seem to be clearer to me then, to carry more significance. So tikkun leyl Shavuot, the Shavuot Nightwatch, has been a pleasure since my childhood. To sit up late and discuss the world's problems, or my problems, or just any old thing, and have it sanctioned by custom and law made it a special pleasure indeed. 

I was spending Shavuot night in temple, in New Mexico, perhaps an unlikely place to find a gathering of Jews, but then, the Jews have always scattered. The community had decorated the synagogue with flowers and sheaves of wheat, and the rabbi had given everyone who helped a corsage of carnations and roses to wear. For dinner, I'd had cheese blintzes and a green salad, along with a fabulous cheesecake, New York style. Delicious. 

My Blair was constantly in my thoughts that night, and I spoke of him many times to the men and women spending the night in temple. How much I loved him, how much I tried not to stifle his growth and adventures, how much I worried about him. Jewish mothers, you know. I wasn't bad, but I couldn't help it. 

Around midnight, I had what I guess was a vision. Silly, really, although it made me cry. I must've dozed, because I dreamt I saw Blair with Jim, standing in a forest somewhere, lights blazing all around him. He and Jim seemed to be tied together in some way, but I couldn't see how. They were kissing. Kissing as passionately as I've ever seen two people kiss. They were glowing like brands with their passion. I watched as Jim touched Blair reverently, and as Blair responded to his touch, vibrating with pleasure. 

Then the vision left me and I started to cry harder, remembering what Jim had described to me: how my son had drowned and been called back. Is that why Jim called him back? For love? To love him? I should be happy. I had my son, and he was loved. Why did I cry? 

The rabbi's wife, a young, rather tough-looking woman dressed all in black, took me aside and gave me kleenex. I tried to describe what I'd seen, embarrassed because she didn't look as though she'd believe in anything but the stock market. But she listened closely, watching my face. When I'd talked myself out, she said, "Congratulations." At my puzzled glance, she added, "It sounds to me as though you have a son-in-law. Another son to love and fuss over. What's not to like?" 

Hearing such old-fashioned words from this frighteningly modern creature made me laugh. I blew my nose vigorously and thanked her. "Call your son," she advised me, still a bit stern. "I think he has news for you." 

* * *

May 24 - Saint of the day: St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi (1566-1607)  
1999 

Jim genuflected and crossed himself, then fit his long legs into a pew. Today was Sandburg's birthday and he needed to get home, get the celebration started, but he also needed to be here. 

He didn't come to church often. He hadn't been to mass since his wedding, and hadn't confessed in seven years. But occasionally the spirit brought him here, to cleanse himself of the mire of his work. 

Today had been particularly bad. Thank Christ Sandburg wasn't a cop yet; wasn't anything, really, since Jim had so spectacularly fucked up his life, so he hadn't been present to see. Each day, Jim went to work while Blair stayed home, trying to piece himself together again while he figured out who he was. 

On top of Jim's guilt and shame, he had had to bear witness to the death of a child. A drowning, no less, by its own mother, poor benighted woman. Nuts. Psychotic. Possessed. It didn't matter what you diagnosed; her son was still dead, water filling his tiny lungs. 

Jim dropped his head into his hands and rested them on the back of the pew ahead of him. Jesus God, why do these things happen? And today, of all days, when he wanted to be strong and happy for Blair. 

He found himself reciting the Hail Mary, a calming prayer. He loved the notion of being full of grace, and wished he could feel that way. 

After several minutes of prayer, the habit of quiet learned long ago returned to him. When he lifted his head, he saw a flyer stuck in the Bible lying next to him. He flipped open the cover of the Bible, but there wasn't a name, so he pulled out the flyer. 

_St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi,_ he read. _Saint of May 24_

"Mystical ecstasy is the elevation of the spirit to God in such a way that the person is aware of this union with God and both internal and external senses are detached from the sensible world. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi was so generously given this special gift of God that she is called the 'ecstatic saint.'" 

He smiled to himself. What a fitting saint for Sandburg's birthday. The ecstatic saint indeed. He read on, learning about St. Mary Magdalene's life and her years of ecstatic visions, dictated to other nuns into six volumes, but he was stopped by this bit of information: 

"It seems that God permitted her this special closeness to prepare her for the five years of desolation that followed when she experienced spiritual dryness. She was plunged into a state of darkness in which she saw nothing but what was horrible in herself and all around her. She had violent temptations and endured great physical suffering." 

Oh, God, he thought prayerfully, please do not let this happen to my friend. He closed his eyes again and sank back to his knees, remembering the great physical suffering Blair had already endured. Jim knew that Blair often saw what was horrible in himself, as if through a distorted lens, because Jim also knew that Blair was a good and kind man, a man he respected and deeply, deeply loved. 

A man with whom he had a profoundly carnal relationship, a sexual relationship that Jim's Church could not accept. So why am I here? Jim asked himself, feeling close to tears. He stood up quickly, ready to leave, tossing the flyer back onto the seat. Then he remembered that in the rear of the church, opposite the Lady Chapel, was a small chapel dedicated to Saint Francis, Jim's favorite saint. The bad boy who did good. 

So he quietly walked back to kneel before the wooden carving of Saint Francis, who smiled placidly down at Jim. He crossed himself and folded his hands as he had when he was a child. Forgive me, Francis, he started awkwardly. I think you of all people would understand how I feel. I won't give up Blair, I won't call our love anything but what it is: a lifesaver. The saver of my life. Please give Blair the peace he deserves, and please help me be a better companion to him, the companion he deserves. 

Saint Francis, of course, didn't answer, but after a few minutes more, Jim felt calmer. Not, perhaps, ready to party, not after his day, but willing to set aside his feelings and celebrate Blair's entrance into this world. 

He got home to find his partner teary-eyed, hanging up the phone after a long talk with his mother. Blair went to Jim and put his arms around him, and Jim sighed into the embrace, kissing the top of Blair's head. When Blair's breathing evened out, Jim gently moved them to the couch, and pulled Blair down into his lap. He slid off immediately but stayed next to Jim, leaning against him. Jim slowly stroked his hair. 

Finally, Blair said, "Mom knows about us." 

"You tell her?" 

"No. She saw it. In a vision, on Shavuot." 

"Shavuot; that's another Jewish holiday?" 

"Yeah, a few days ago. She described what sounded like Beltane." Jim smiled and kissed Blair's ear, then tickled it with his tongue. Blair giggled and tried to pull away. "Stop it! Don't you want to hear?" But Jim knew how much Blair loved having his ear licked, and continued to nibble and swipe at it with his tongue, until Blair was shivering with pleasure and rubbing his legs together. 

"Back up," Jim murmured into his damp ear, and Blair obligingly slung one leg over Jim's, so he sat again on Jim's lap but facing him. The smell of Blair's arousal was intoxicating. Jim began to rock his hips up and back, pressing Blair down into him. The sensation was electrifying, and he heard Blair gasp with pleasure. "She okay with it?" 

"Uh," Blair said, and shivered. "Yeah. She sends her love. She, uh," but he couldn't say anymore because Jim thrust his hand down the back of Blair's sweatpants and seized his ass, one finger sliding into the crease. Blair pushed back against it, crying, "Oh, yeah, fuck, yeah," and the horrible day fell away from Jim until all he was aware of was Blair, Blair's presence, Blair's passion, Blair's pleasure. 

"Fuck me," he whispered to Blair, who jumped up, froze for an instant, and then grabbed Jim's hand to lead him upstairs. 

"Happy birthday to me," he sang, and Jim goosed him, lifting him almost off the step and onto the next one up. 

"That's thirty spanks you get, right?" The look Blair gave Jim over his shoulder put aside all rational thought, and when Blair began to unbutton Jim's shirt, he sat obediently on the bed and waited. Blair had lifted all burdens from Jim with that look, and he waited to see what miracle he would next perform. 

* * *

Late June -- Summer Solstice  
1999 

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for your birthday," I told Blair, kissing him and hugging him tightly. I stroked his hair, shorn now, in preparation for the police academy. I couldn't help but mourn its absence; he was so beautiful with those long curls. But I'd cut my hair years ago, so I understood. Times change; we have to, too. 

"Naomi!" Jim came into the loft, arms full of brown grocery bags. "What a surprise." He sounded genuinely pleased to see me and, hastily shoving the bags onto the kitchen counter, gave me a big hug, nearly lifting me off the floor. I heard Blair giggle and, when Jim set me down, he leaned over my shoulder and kissed Blair hello, right on the mouth. Blair went to him and hugged him and kissed him back. Then both men looked at me. 

"Oh, boys," I said, smiling as hard as I could, feeling the tears in my eyes. "I'm so happy for you." I kissed them both on the cheek. "I guess you have me for a mother-in-law, Jim." 

"Well, you have to put up with me as a son-in-law," he said, blushing a bit. I saw that this had been a little test, and was sure I had passed. 

"What'd you get?" Blair asked, reminding Jim of the groceries. 

"Oh, hey, stuff for the Solstice. You're coming, right, Naomi?" 

"Wouldn't miss it. Is it still at Salmon Creek Beach?" 

Blair nodded as he unpacked the bags. "Yeah, there's a coven we sometimes do things with that goes there. And Jim and I like it there a lot." 

Jim was smiling at Blair so hard I thought his jaw would crack. I could tell it was a special place for them. It was only six, so we had plenty of time to have dinner before arriving there at eight, the traditional starting time. Sunset in Cascade this time of year didn't happen until after ten, so we could even be a little late. 

"Since I wasn't here for Beltane, let me celebrate your joining now, at this sabbat, and take you someplace special for dinner. Any suggestions?" 

So we had Italian for dinner, and I bought a bottle of very good merlot to share, although Jim was the designated driver and so drank only a glass. We reached the beach a little after eight and I spent some time greeting old friends while Jim and Blair helped arrange logs for the bonfire. Practical Jim had brought kindling in the pickup along with wine, juices, granola bars, apples, and grapes. 

By nine-thirty, the sun was setting and the wind picked up a bit, keeping the fog away but chilling us down. I pulled on a sweater and watched as Jim helped Blair into a Cascade PD sweatshirt. I knew that I'd remember their gentleness together. 

And then the bonfire was lit, so we had the sun sinking before us and the warmth of the fire behind us. Lots of bonfires lined the beach; I could see them all the way up to Point Lobos and all the way down to Cascade Harbor. Out in the Sound, I thought I saw flickering lights on some of the islands, but they were probably just reflections of the sun on the water. 

Jim had brought folding lawn chairs in the back of the truck, so the three of us sat in comfort, Blair's feet in Jim's lap. The night was quiet; it was too early for the real celebration, and I felt myself falling asleep. To stay awake, I asked them, "How did you finally get together?" 

Blair smiled at Jim, who kept rubbing Blair's feet. "I guess the God and Goddess inspired us," Blair said, and Jim chuckled. 

"Something inspired us," he agreed. He looked at me. "I honestly don't know, Naomi. I've loved Blair forever, but that night -- I couldn't not kiss him." He looked at my son. "I couldn't not court him." 

"Woo," Blair teased. 

"Woo-hoo," Jim said, and kissed Blair's stockinged foot. Woo-hoo, indeed, I thought to myself. Good thing I'm not diabetic. But, they were, in essence, newlyweds, and although I've never committed to anyone yet, I did seem to keep returning to Gretta. She and I had agreed to meet for Lammas night. We'll see what happens then. Maybe I wouldn't have room to laugh at the boys' silliness. 

Someone began tapping on bongos, and then another kind of drum, deeper sounding, and then people began clicking their fingers and clapping as well. A woman I thought I recognized tossed a handful of herbs into the fire; it shot up and suddenly smelled both bitter and sweet. 

When I looked back, Jim and Blair were gazing into each other's eyes; it was clear that, for them, the beach was empty of anything but the two of them. I leaned back in my chair and snuggled deeper into my sweater, swaying to the rhythms around me. I wished Gretta were there. 

Maybe Jim and Blair were an unexpected couple; certainly, they were unconventional. Two strong men, so different from each other and yet so beautifully matched. I saw my son as a little boy, playing on this very beach; I saw him as a shy and awkward teenager, intellectually advanced but socially a bit shy; as a student, confident in his field. And now, as a cop, and partner to a cop. A grown-up. 

My son was grown up. 

I blamed the tears in my eyes on the bittersweet smoke from the fire. 

* * *

Early August - Lammas  
1974 

Blair snuggled into the big bed we were sharing; he had on his favorite pajamas, the ones with Superman printed on them. I didn't really approve of Superman, but how could I deny my darling? 

"Come to bed, mama," he murmured sleepily. I sat down next to him and kissed his forehead. 

"In a little while, sweetie. I'm going to visit with the others for a while longer." 

"With the grown-ups." 

"Yes. Do you mind?" 

"Unh-unh." But he wouldn't let go of my hand. "Is the King going to die, really?" 

I bit my lip. Maybe Blair was too young to have gone to the ceremony. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd pick up on the fact that the Lammas celebration looks to the day the King dies. "The glass is only half full," the High Priest had told us, "because although we're giving thanks for the first harvest that will carry us through the winter months, we must also acknowledge the inevitable death of the King." I sighed. How to answer? How to explain metaphorical death and rebirth to a child? 

Finally, I said, "No one is really going to die. It's a story from long ago. It stands for the ending of the summer, sort of the dying of the summer." 

He nodded, blue eyes wise beyond his years. However did this child come to me? 

"Mama, will I die?" 

"Not for a long, long time, sweetheart. I promise." I kissed him again and rested my face against his. He smelled sweet and fresh. "You have a long life ahead of you, full of adventure. You know that. Remember, we had the tarot reading? You'll have much enjoyment of love and the benefit of good advice. You'll also have many new beginnings in your long life. Remember?" 

"Mm-hmm. The pretty cards. I was the Magician." 

"That's right. You're my Magician." 

"But mama," and I knew he was trying to keep me with him, but I only smiled. "The King was married. Will I marry?" 

"Do you want to?" 

His eyes softened as he looked into some unknowable future. "I want someone to stay with me. Take care of me." 

"They will, Blair. Someone will love you forever." 

"I liked the corn bread, and the blackberry pie. And blowing at the, the seeds." 

"Grain. Yeah, that was nice. What else did you like?" 

"The poems. I liked the one about what will be is." 

"Can you say it?" 

"What will be is. What was will be. The Wheel of the Year forever turns. Dark to light, light to dark, each season passes with lessons learned." 

"What's that mean?" He shook his head, and I ran my hand through the silken curls. "Even though the summer is dying, it will return. The Wheel of the Year forever turns. So even when things are hard, darling, remember that they'll get better." 

"So it's okay that the King dies?" 

I hoped he wouldn't have nightmares because of this. "Hey, scoot over," I said, and he smiled enormously. "I think I'll stay here for a while, okay?" 

"Yes, mama," and he cuddled up to me, putting his arms around my neck and kissing my cheek softly. Was there ever a more beautiful child? Or more sensitive? I wish I hadn't taken him; he was too little to be meditating on the notion of Death in Life, as we had at the ceremony. I had been foolish yet again, with the most important person in my life. 

* * *

Late September -- Autumnal Equinox  
2000 

"Freeze!" 

Blair spread his legs shoulder-width and braced his revolver with his left hand, aiming at the suspect's back. "Goddammit, I said freeze!" This time, thank god, he listened and practically skidded to a halt, arms overhead. 

"It's okay, man!" the kid shouted. He looked almost funny, standing there with the purses over his shoulder. If he hadn't pushed his last victim in front of a fortunately slow-moving car, Blair might've found some humor in it. But it was the end of a long day and watching a madcap purse-snatcher in action was more than he wanted. 

Jim had stayed behind to tend to the lady, an older woman with light blue-gray hair. The fall had torn her stockings and thrown her sensible grey pumps right off her feet. Blair had taken one look and burst into flight, chasing down the kid half his age. Slowly he approached. 

"Drop the purses," he barked, keeping his gun trained on the kid's back. They slid, bump bump bump, onto the muddy sidewalk, compacts and tampons and wallets rolling out. "Now put your hands behind your head." 

"I know the drill," the kid said, and Blair was pleased to hear he was gasping for breath, too. Quickly, Blair handcuffed him, gathered up the purses, and marched the kid back to where Jim was insisting the lady remain flat, much to her embarrassment. In the distance, Blair could hear the sirens of their arriving backup. 

"You okay?" Jim asked, worry creasing his handsome face. Blair nodded, and shoved the kid. 

"Sit down and stay down," he ordered. Another woman darted forward to Blair and he stepped back quickly, sharply. 

"That's my purse," she protested. 

"Sorry, ma'am, but it's evidence now." A patrol car screeched up and two uniforms jumped out. "These officers will take your statement, though, and get your name. You'll be able to claim it in a few days." 

"But my car keys are in there," she said, starting to cry. "And my checkbook. I have to buy gro-oh-oh," and another woman came out of the crowd to put her arms around the weeping woman. 

"Paramedics en route?" Blair asked the nearest uniform, a middle-aged woman with short curly light brown hair. Lisa, he thought, or Laura. She nodded and pulled the suspect up to put in the back of the prowler. 

Another thirty minutes and they were free to continue home, deciding to give up on grocery shopping themselves. Jim volunteered to fry up some eggs and that was all Blair thought he could eat. Fuck, he was tired. 

A hot shower and a cold beer, he thought, staring out the passenger window of the truck. My world is thus reduced to the essentials. 

After dinner, Blair stood irresolutely in the living room. He felt wired and tired, all at once. An impossible combination. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, his oldest pair, soft and holey, and tried to think what to do. He felt a warm hand on his back and relaxed into the pressure, looking up at Jim. 

"Let's go for a walk," Jim suggested, and gently pushed Blair toward the door. "Wear your heavier coat; it'll be brisk out." 

They walked to the harbor, their favorite walk. Blair loved the sight of the evening light reflecting off the water. It was cold, though, for late September. Another El Nino year, he guessed. 

They didn't talk, just walked together. As if they hadn't spent the day together, and the night, and the day before. Blair felt himself withdrawing from his cop persona, metamorphosing into something else. Something quieter, more relaxed. More loving. When it was completely dark, he put his arm through Jim's, something he was doing more and more. Any homophobic asshole who had a problem with him touching his beloved would just have to deal with it. 

Finally, they came to a favorite spot and stopped, leaning against the cold metal railings and looking out into the Sound. Jim leaned against him, and Blair was glad to brace himself to support him. He wanted to be the person Jim turned to, the person Jim needed and relied upon. Not just as backup for their work, but for his emotional needs as well. Feeling Jim's warm weight against him remade him into the person he wanted to be. Or maybe let him be the person he really was. 

After a while, Jim kissed his forehead, and said, "Blair. This cop thing. I don't think. I'm afraid." He cleared his throat noisily, and then said, "I'm not sure it's good for you." 

Blair looked at him, but Jim was staring down into the water, the yellow lights reflecting off it moving across his face. "You don't think I'm a good cop?" 

That made Jim look at him. "Oh, hell, no. No, Blair, that isn't it at all. You're the best cop I know, the best partner I've ever had. But I'm not sure it's good for _you_." 

They stared at each other for several seconds before Blair said, "Can you be more specific?" 

Jim scratched his neck, then rubbed his hand over his thinning hair, now kept very short. "It wears on you. You're such a gentle soul. I'm afraid it's hurting you. I don't want you to change." These last words were almost whispered. 

Blair put his arm around Jim's waist and pulled him nearer. "I'll be okay." 

"Will you? You're an intellectual, a scholar. As athletic as you are, I'm not sure you should be chasing thieves through the streets of Cascade." 

"Most dangerous city in America." But the joke was no longer very funny. "Look. At least I'm not getting kidnapped anymore." But Jim remained silent, looking at his partner with a gentle concern warming Blair's soul. 

Blair sighed heavily and rubbed Jim's side where he held him, stroking his ribs through the flannel jacket he wore. "I hear you," he finally said. "And I really do hear you, I know what you're getting at. But Jim." To Blair's embarrassment, his throat closed and he had to stop a moment, to breathe deeply. "I'm good at this. Aren't I?" Jim nodded. "Everybody wants to do what they're good at. Don't ask me to stop." 

Jim kissed him again, and said, "I'd never ask you that. You do what you think is best. What I've learned over the years is to trust your judgment. But I can't help worrying." 

"I'm glad." 

They stood in silence for a few minutes more, listening to the water slap against the pilings and boat hulls, and then Jim took Blair's hand and pulled him away. "Let's go home." 

The walk was dark enough that they held hands all the way, but Blair kept a sharp eye out for any watchers. They'd been hassled a couple of times and he really didn't want this evening spoiled. He knew when they'd get home, Jim would take him to bed and make him sweet, gentle love, the kind that took half the night and stayed with him for days, memory of it ambushing him in meetings or in line for coffee. 

"It'll be the equinox soon," he said idly as they neared Prospect. "We should celebrate." 

"You've never celebrated the equinox before have you?" 

"Not really. I think my mom did a few times. I'll look up the traditions. Maybe something'll look fun. Meaningful." 

Jim nodded, remembering the holidays he and Blair had celebrated over the years -- Jewish, Catholic, Wiccan, Buddhist, Hindu, Moslem, who knows what. Another thing he had learned during his years with Blair was that celebration was important; taking the time to give thanks was important. If there was something about this equinox that called to Blair, spoke to him in a way that he found significant, then Jim would help him celebrate. 

A few days later, Blair said, "The equinox is this Friday. I found something," and he scrabbled in his backpack, sitting underneath his desk. A piece of the old Blair that had remained with him. "Here, listen to this, about the fall equinox. 'Paradoxically, it is a time of stress and turbulence, as humans and Nature alike change gears, preparing physically and psychically for the cold hard season to come. The theme is rest after labor, as well as thanksgiving for the bounty of the earth.'" 

"Rest after labor," Jim repeated. "I like that. What do we do to celebrate?" 

"Well, get ready for cold weather. In prehistoric societies, that meant repairing living quarters, preparing the fields for planting the following spring, drying meats and fruit, storing root vegetables. I guess for us it should mean making sure the skylight isn't going to leak this winter, putting storm windows on the balcony doors, things like that. 

"Also, it's a time to give things away. So maybe clean out our closets and give anything decent to Goodwill. Maybe help in a soup kitchen between now and Christmas." 

Jim was nodding. "Yeah, we need to do that stuff anyway. Let's do it. No parties?" 

Blair smiled. "I can't believe you asked that. Since when did you like parties?" 

Jim glanced around the bullpen before whispering, "Since I met my boyfriend at one." Blair thought his heart would melt, right there in the Cascade PD. He looked down at the note, afraid of what he would look like, smiling at Jim. So far their relationship was an open secret, a don't ask-don't tell sort of thing that permitted them to continue working as partners. They were anxious to remain so, but sometimes it was pretty hard not to lean over and lay a big wet one right on Jim, right there. Like now. 

"Hey, I'm sorry," Jim said softly. 

"Oh, no, man, no, you better not be." Jim nodded understandingly. 

"So no parties?" 

"Poker night count?" 

Jim nodded, content. "Oh, yeah. Specially if you share the pot." 

"No way! That's my retirement fund." Jim chuckled, and turned back to the report he was drafting. 

* * *

Late September/Early October -- Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur  
2000 

"So you celebrate the new year first, and then a day of atonement? That seems backwards to me, Chief. Shouldn't you atone and then start all over?" 

"Hey, I'm not a rabbi. I'm not even a very good Jew. I'm just telling you what it's all about." 

"The High Holy Days." 

"Yeah." 

"So, you gonna celebrate? Go to temple?" 

Blair considered this. He waggled his head indecisively. "You know, I have been thinking about fasting on Yom Kippur. I, it just seems. I don't know. It just seems as though this is the year for it." 

Jim rubbed Blair's back, firm slow circles over his shoulders and across his shoulder blades. "Do you want me to fast with you? It's not like Ramadan, right? It's only one day?" 

"Twenty-five hours. Starts the evening before. We'd have a big meal, carb up, as if before a race, and then nothing till the next sundown. If you do it, load up on water beforehand. I mean, you should feel like you're gonna float away. Oh, god, rub there again." 

"Here?" He focused on a spot just under Blair's left shoulder blade, his sensitive fingers finding a knot in the muscles there. "And we spend the day praying?" 

"Yeah, pretty much. Devout Jews spend the day at the synagogue." 

"A kind of punishment?" 

"I don't think so. More like confession and repentance. Man, where's a rabbi when you need one?" 

Jim paused in his rubbing for a moment. Blair looked back over his shoulder at him, sitting on Blair's thighs on their bed. "What?" 

"Do you want me to convert?" 

"What?" Blair twisted so he could sit up. "No, Jim, wait. I respect that you're a Christian, I mean, not that you're very devout, but you were baptized a Catholic. Am I pressuring you with this? Is it too much?" 

"No, Blair, it's okay. I just wondered. It seems as though you're returning to your faith more and more." 

"Well, hardly returning. Naomi was running away from her parents' devoutness, so it's a miracle that I was bar mitzvahed. And you know I celebrate all kinds of holidays. Holy days. I'd be happy to celebrate others with you, if you need. I mean, Easter, I guess, that's the big one for Christians, right?" 

Jim shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah, it was a big deal when my mom was around, but my dad wasn't too keen on showing up in church after she split. Embarrassed, I guess, that he couldn't keep her. I took Stevie to catechism when he was little, but then we kinda stopped that, too. 

"I don't know, Blair. It isn't that Easter and stuff is so important to me; it's just that I want to celebrate with you. I'm not much of a Christian, you know, and if you're, uh, moving closer to Judaism, I don't want. I don't want to get left behind, you know? I don't have to be, uh, ah, a goy." 

Blair leaned forward and kissed him. "You are _such_ a nice man. My Jewish mother would be so happy if I brought you home." 

"Actually," Jim said thoughtfully, just before kissing Blair stupid, "she really was, wasn't she?" 

* * *

October 31 - Samhain  
2000 

"Sow-in or sahv-in, goddammit." 

"Well, why is it spelled sam-hane if it's pronounced sow-in, goddammit?" 

"Because it's Gaelic, goddammit. Hell, with a name like Ellison, you should know that." 

"Just because my great-great-great-great grandfather was some jack Irishman doesn't mean I know shit about Old Eire or Gaelic or the potato famine." 

"So I've gathered. Look, Jim, I don't want to argue. Just try, okay? Sow-in. Sow-in. Read my lips: sow-in." 

"Read mine: Fuck you." 

"That's the spirit. Hey, did you know that in Mexican culture, Samhain is el dia de los muertos, the day of the dead? And they eat these little sugar skulls and sweet rolls with pink bones painted on them?" 

"Yes, actually I did know that. What an idea. Have a picnic in the cemetery and honor your grandparents." 

"Even your great-great-great-great grandfather, that jack Irishman?" 

"Yeah, sure, Sandburg. Even him." 

"So, which pumpkin, punkin'?" Jim pointed and Blair hauled it out of the straw-covered lot to the cash register, where Jim paid, and then out to the pickup. "These stencils are so cool. We'll have the best jack o'lantern in Cascade, you know?" 

"I'm just afraid it'll turn blue before Halloween, Samhain, whatever. And it stays on the balcony, okay?" 

The jack o'lantern did not turn blue, although it did get a little mushy on one side. It sat on the balcony gleaming, a votive candle burning inside. Jim had angled it in a corner so he could see the face they'd carved. 

The end of autumn was coming; he could smell it in the air, or more accurately, he could smell winter in the wind. It would be a cold year, he could tell, and promised himself to buy Blair a new winter coat. He stood at the balcony doors and stared out, seeing simultaneously the world outside, stretching to Russia across the ocean, and the world inside the loft as reflected in the glass. 

He saw himself, now moving into middle age, standing guard as was his job. Behind him, Blair sat cross-legged on the couch, glasses on his nose, reading something. Music played on the stereo; Loreena McKennitt's Samhain, its haunting lyrics capturing his feelings for Blair. 

I think this is my life, he thought. I think this is it. All those years, this is what I was working for. Working toward. A quiet evening at home, with Blair's heartbeat in my ear, his breath on my face. Jim could see much of the first floor of their home in the reflection, and saw how it had changed in the years he'd lived here. The artwork on the walls, a mask leaning against some books, the books themselves. Even the music. 

Everything changes, he thought, and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. This, too, shall pass. That's what Blair is celebrating, when he celebrates all these holidays. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. Summer became autumn, autumn will become winter, and winter will, finally, finally, let go and become spring. Please god, please. Let me see that spring with Blair. 

As if he'd heard that thought, Blair looked up from his book. He set it down and rose, coming to Jim's side, and slid his arms around Jim. "Hey," he whispered. 

Jim rejoiced in that moment, in his lover's arms. "Hey," he finally said. 

"Penny for 'em?" 

"Not worth it." But he saw the concern on Blair's face and relented. "About us. And time." 

"But at my back I always hear, time's winged chariot hurrying near?" 

"Yeah. Yeah." 

"The deities are dark, this time of year. The turning. This is when Persephone retreats to the Underworld, to be with the Lord of Death. It's natural to feel melancholy now." 

Jim kissed his temple. "You're a wise man, Sandburg." 

"Maybe. Or maybe I feel the same way." 

They leaned together and looked out into the night, until Blair said, "Rose is holding a ceremony for Samhain." 

"You wanna go?" 

"You?" 

Jim thought about it. He'd finally acted on his feelings for Blair at one of Rose's Wiccan ceremonies. The lawyer-witch. That was eighteen months ago, at Beltane, a holiday he now celebrated with religious fervor. "Yeah, I'd like to go. What do we bring?" 

"Wine, bread, flowers." 

"I'll take care of 'em." 

So a few nights later, they drove through streets thronged with trick-or-treaters until they came to Rose and Kermit's impressive home. Jim had finally discovered that Rose's Santa Claus-like husband was neither her husband nor Santa Claus. They'd lived together for twenty years, though, and both were lawyers who taught at Rainier's law school. Kermit specialized in environmental law, thus their beautiful gardens. 

It was a smaller group that met for Samhain than had for the last two Beltanes Jim had attended; maybe thirty people, mostly Blair's age and older. The younger ones, Jim realized, would be celebrating Halloween. When at last Kermit had called for their attention, in the clearing in the cedar grove, Rose held a burning taper in her hands. 

"Gentle friends," she said in her beautiful voice, "The Lady Ardane has written that, on Samhain, 'we are here tonight to celebrate the most sacred of our holidays. A time outside of time, a time when the boundaries have been lifted, normal laws are suspended, and spirits from the other world can seek entry into ours. The doors are opened, the thresholds can be bridged. Samhain is a night for divination, the past, present and future merge. The dead and the still-to-be-born are celebrated.'" 

Rose then called a Circle of Power, with all the guests inside it. "Put yourself in harmony with the elements of the universe," she instructed them. "As we smell this incense, symbol of air, may we feel ourselves gaining in strength and power. As we light these candles, symbol of fire, may we recall how the fires, built by our ancestors, nurtured and protected them. As we touch this salt, the symbol of the earth, may we ask the Ancient Ones to protect and heal the earth on which we live. As we anoint ourselves with this water, may it serve to cleanse our bodies and spirits of all negativity, illness, and weariness of heart." 

Jim did feel better, lighter, as if these ancient rituals had some power to lighten his heart. Rest after labor, he remembered Blair saying, and thought that he could rest now. He could set down his burdens and rely on Blair to take care of him for a while. 

Rose said, "On this night we honor those who have gone before," and Jim thought of his missing mother, and of Blair's absent father. But he would honor them, because they had made Jim and Blair, their absence had made them who there were and thus made it possible for Jim to love Blair. Rose's beautiful voice pulled his attention from his own thoughts and he tried to follow her instructions, remembering Jack Pendergrast, Danny Choi, the many he had lost. They, too, had made him who he was. 

Now he was changing again, had changed, because of Blair. He looked at his partner, solemn and still, holding his candle and watching Rose in the fire's glow. Jim felt again the terrible knowledge that this, too, shall pass; that he would die, Blair would die, everyone they ever knew and loved would die, too. They'd leave no children, no legacy. Only their love. 

Yet Jim did believe that love lived on. He'd gone after Blair, pulled him back from death, and knew that he would meet Blair again, in some afterlife he didn't know how to believe in. But it would be all right. Eventually, ultimately, it would be all right. 

Rose said softly, "To our beloved dead, we say Merry Meet and Merry Part and Merry Meet again. May you return to your areas of peace and progress, taking with you our love. And now, as our God goes to ready himself for his rebirth at the Winter Solstice, may he know we value his sacrifice, and that we, together with Our Mother, await his return with love and joy. 

"May the peace and protection of the God and the Goddess and of the Ancient Ones be with you, and may the love and fellowship of this circle remain in your hearts. 

"The Circle is open." 

Jim took a deep breath, and felt Blair do the same. They looked at each other, across their candles. Jim smiled sadly. "Merry meet and merry part, and merry meet again. I think we did that already, Chief." 

Blair leaned up and kissed him as sweetly as the incense in the air. "Then we'll do it again, Jim. That's the nature of the world; it's cyclical. Turning and turning in the widening gyre . . ." 

"The center cannot hold. That's a cheering thought, that there's some rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem." 

Blair made a face. "You know what I mean." 

Just then, Rose touched Jim's arm, and he looked up to see her smiling at them. "You're talking about the Immutable Wheel of Life. A witch known as the Lady Ardane wrote much of the ceremony we participated in tonight. She also wrote, 'We know that even as the body dies, the spirit will survive to be born again. We greet death as new opportunity, even as we greet birth as that opportunity manifest. As our love rises to meet the spirits of our dead who have joined our circle, we greet them with joyful memories of the past and beautiful dreams of the future. The wheel turns and turns again.'" 

She left her hand on Jim's arm and laid the other on Blair's shoulder. "Remember that, gentlemen. The wheel turns and turns again. What is, will be. So be it in love that harms none, for this is the only commandment." 

Jim shook his head a little, that a lapsed Catholic should be here with his Jewish boyfriend in a stand of cedar owned by a wealthy witch. He liked the irony of the situation even as he was warmed by Rose's attention and her words. He slung an arm around Blair's shoulders and squeezed him gently. "Yes, ma'am," he said to Rose, smiling, and felt Blair's head rest against his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Rose," Blair said in his deep baritone. She kissed them both and then left them in the clearing, the fire burning down, the incense fading as all things do. 

"Will your mom and Gretta be out for Hanukkah?" Jim asked as he gently turned Blair back toward the house and the food he knew was waiting. 

Blair shook his head, his curls tossing. "Don't know. She's talking about going to Sedona, some sort of harmonic convergence at the vortex there." 

"Well, shit, can't miss that. Can you believe she's with Gretta again, after all these years?" 

"I can't believe Gretta nursed me! Eww." 

"I dunno. I've seen pictures of her from thirty years ago, and she was a looker. I bet you loved sucking on her." 

"Jim! That's my mom's, uh." 

"Yeah, her uh. Just like you're my uh." 

"Hey, uh, give us a kiss, hmm?" 

Jim obliged, feeling with delight and power Blair's tongue in his mouth, Blair's hands on his ass. He wanted to strip and make love right there on the forest floor, by the light of the fire, in front of the Beltane tree where he'd first kissed Blair. He wanted to feel Blair inside him, reaching him as no other had ever, could ever reach him. 

He wanted the new year to begin. 


End file.
